http://romanceontherocks.com/2016/02/its-leap-day-single-ladies-are-you-ready/
http://romanceontherocks.com/2016/02/its-leap-day-single-ladies-are-you-ready/
http://%20%20https://youtu.be/awzNHuGqoMc%20
I was almost two months pregnant and flying with my 14 month old daughter to New York on 9/11. The flight from Mississippi to North Carolina went smoothly, but as we arrived at the gate to make our connecting flight to New York, flights had been delayed. One tower of the World Trade Centers had been hit by a plane.
Every eye at the gate was glued to the overhead TVs as the report came in that another had been hit. I remember saying to the man beside me “That was no accident.” I became hyper-focused on my daughter and then worried that my husband may have gotten up and gone into the city that day. He was working in mid-town, but I didn’t want him anywhere near what was going on. To my relief, when I called, he was still at his dad’s in Westchester County.
Sometime later, I was standing in a line trying to re-book my flight when a news reporter came up to interview me. Up until that moment, everything had been surreal, but as soon as she started asking questions, it sunk in that someone had purposely sought to kill innocent people just going about their daily routine. I remember saying something like “How could anyone do something like that?” and then I looked down at my sweet, unsuspecting, energetic child, who just wanted to run around the airport and play. I burst into tears in front of the reporter and camera.
Luckily I found a nearby hotel that had a room and a shuttle. The next day I returned to the airport to wait with every other trapped passenger, most of whom had stayed the night on the airport floors. In one of the lines an airport employee said she saw me on the news the night before. It’s probably a good thing I did not catch that news report because I’m sure I looked hideous.
There were many heroes that day, average citizens helping others, the firemen and the police and countless others. I had my own personal heroes that day too. The lady at the US Airways ticket counter that found a package of emergency baby supplies for a scared young mom and the numerous American Red Cross volunteers that stayed at the airport to hand out toothbrushes, water and necessities for all the stranded and terrified people. They gave my daughter a teddy bear that probably reassured me more than it did her.
Since 9/11, my charity of choice has been the American Red Cross because I have seen them in action and I know their work is worthwhile. The money you give today may not be put to use right away, but it will go to help others when an emergency does arrive.
On our third day stranded, my husband drove down to pick us up. The days had been horrible, but we were so thankful that we were the lucky ones and made it to New York safely.
On 9/11, I remember all of those innocent people. I remember all of the first responders that worked so hard at great sacrifice to themselves. And I remember my own heroes too. I still have my daughter’s bear and the US Airways package. It’s strange because I am an anti-hoarder, but I’ll never be able to let them go, just like I will never forget.
My original intention was not to be writing today. I am in the process of packing and preparing for pitches at Romance Writers of America (RWA) Nationals tomorrow. However, I took a break to pick my oldest son up at the airport from a three week visit to his grandparents in Mississippi.
Upon arrival, a U.S. Airways representative directed me to the special services line for a pass to get by security to pick up my unaccompanied minor. When placed in the line, I was behind three other customers. The normal check in line was much longer and the man at the front of the line started yelling about how our line came from nowhere. I spoke to him, maybe I shouldn’t have, but I said, “This is a special services line, I’m just here to pick up an unaccompanied minor.” In my defense, I said it in a very polite way, not intending to inflame him, but to reassure him. It didn’t work.
He barked back, “I’ve been waiting 30 minutes and I have two young children that are hungry and crying.” I had observed one of their little girls just before he had sent her to the mother that was sitting somewhere else. She had not been crying.
I had not expected the rage that turned on me. I did get angry and said something about my child being left alone at the terminal (can’t remember my exact words), but at this point my tone was not nice.
When the people in front of me were finished, he jumped to the representative in front of me (the one he was not supposed to go to). She had no idea what was going on so proceeded to help him. I stood their stunned. This emboldened the people behind him to rush to the other special service rep before I could take a step closer. Now there was a group mob mentality that was determined I was in the wrong for doing what I had been instructed to do.
The second group that cut was promptly sent back to their other line because the representative had a limited scope of duties. She called me up, but I couldn’t speak because I was trying to hold back the tears. Getting my security pass took less than two minutes.
When I walked away, I looked back at the father. He wouldn’t look at me, but I know he heard me when I said “Now you’ve made a stranger cry today.”
So here is why he may be the inspiration for a villain in a future book. I can totally sympathize and understood where he was coming from. As a mom of four children that has traveled frequently, I know how difficult it is to navigate the system when you have whiny little ones pulling on you. But there is a point where you either cross the line or keep your emotions in check.
My daughter is taking a psychology class this summer and I’ve been lucky enough to read some of her essays. So this is my analysis of the event based on what I’m gleaming from her class. She has since told me that my interpretation is not reflective of the class as a whole, but it is based on the limited knowledge I have.
1. The father was the perpetrator.
2. I was seen as the weaker party.
3. The group in the regular line began to feel the effects of deindividuation, which means these people were acting as a group and not individuals responsible for their own actions. Then their views became polarized based on their perception of the perpetrator’s and they acted out against the “weaker party”.
The father acted out of frustration, impatience and most likely hunger, but I’m not sure why he and his family had not eaten by 9 am on a day where they were catching a flight. (His obvious lack of parenting skills is a topic for another day.) There is a study that shows that lowered glucose levels lead to higher aggression levels.
I was the weaker party. I made myself a target by speaking up. I was acting out of fear because I was first afraid I would not be able to get to my son in time and then because of all the anger directed at me.
The group felt a diffusion of responsibility because they were no longer responsible as individuals and therefore saw their actions as justified.
I reached my son in time and all was well. But who knew I would learn so much about analyzing the perfect villain from my daughter’s class and a trip to the airport?
The Twilight Zone – Wiktionary definition- a region in which surreal, supernatural or fantastic events occur
A place in-between or the gloaming; whatever you call it, it’s a place I thought I would never find myself. That grey area between being a novice and an expert. It’s that awkward spot when you’ve passed that initial learning curve and people expect you to know what you are doing. It can happen to anyone starting a new job or relationship, learning a new craft or a language. Even parents of kids past that tough toddler stage are looked to as skilled in their duties and asked for advice.
We all know looks can be deceiving.
I no longer feel as if I’m new to writing, but I’m still a good distance from where I see myself heading. My dilemma is that I have grown, but at the same time other’s perceptions of me have as well. Can I meet their higher expectations?
It’s crazy, but some people think I know what I’m doing. It’s because I’m no longer afraid to sit quietly in the corner trying to decipher what others are saying. I’m an active participant in conversations on craft, marketing and social media. This gives people the impression that I know what I’m talking about and maybe I do. But I still feel like I’m winging it.
I thought once I had this knowledge and could participate and put myself out there I would be more confident. Leaving the newbie status would somehow put me where I belong, or at least where I want to be. I’m finding that not to be the case.
A new wave of anxiety has gripped me. The fear that others will be disappointed in my results haunts me with each new endeavor. Not that I feel that way about my writing itself, I do believe I am growing and on track to one day soon be published. (fingers crossed)
Is every stage of this journey just as terrifying as the first?
I am challenging myself in areas that scare the crap out of me, but I’m doing it. What frightens me the most is that people will see I’m currently in over my head. I am hoping that this is how I grow and that I’m doing the right things. Powering through the insecurities will get me to where I want to be. Right?
I am going to take that leap, push ahead and do my best to get to the next stage. An author friend and I are embarking on a new adventure. It will help us grow. It will help others that decide to join us. It will be a lot of hard work and a lot of responsibility, but I’m hoping the end result will be fun and worth it.
Soon, I’m hoping to say I have overcome these insecurities. I am in the twilight zone, but despite the disorientation, I see fantastic things happening.
Despite the gloomy rain that has canceled soccer practice, messed up my hair, made it difficult to drive home from the ER late one night and interrupted my dogs’ outside playtime, I am still optimistic. For me this week, there has been a silver lining to every cloud.
The week started out uneventful. I did the normal mom stuff and worked on my writing. Tuesday, my oldest child developed hives. We thought it was due to a new body wash she had been using, so I gave her benadryll and sent her to school. I missed one of my weekly writing groups to stay close to home. Instead, I went to the local library and sat in the quiet room. Those places are amazing, but eerily quiet. I felt guilty just unzipping my computer bag. As I was done, I peaked over my shoulder to confirm that I had not disturbed the dark haired college aged girl behind me or the balding man in kakis and button down shirt several desks down. I have found that these rooms produce a strong need in me to accomplish the task I set out with. No distractions. I now know I enjoy working at the library. 🙂
My daughter seemed to improve until Wednesday morning, when she woke with more hives. This time I gave her medicine and sent her back to bed. I did wake her and took her to school a couple hours later so that she could take a scheduled test. Not long before the school day was over, I got the dreaded call. She had worsened and I needed to go get her. I do have to mention that I was able to meet up with a new writing friend and get a lot accomplished in-between that time. She and I work well together, just the right amount of talk to work ratio. Love you, Harper Kincaid. 🙂 Back to the story, shortly before my youngest two got home, my daughter’s breathing became labored. My husband came home to watch the boys and I rushed her to the ER. Not really sure what we should do, I said we would sit in the parking lot at the hospital and talk if her breathing improved, but I wanted that reassurance of knowing help was close by if needed. Her condition had not improved, so we went in. I tried to stay calm and I thought I was until I noticed the trembling in my hands as I fumbled with my drivers licence under their new checking-in kiosk. Apparently, I do not follow directions well when stressed. I checked myself in instead of her.
One epinephrine shot, an albuterol treatment, tons of pills and five hours later, we were given the choice to admit her or monitor her at home. She had definitely had an allergic reaction. To what we are not quite positive yet, but we will see an allergist. The plus side to this is that we know and will be prepared when she goes for her first few weeks away from home this summer. My husband, daughter and I all know how to use Epi-pens now, so if your child has an allergic reaction at my house, I will know what to do. 🙂
Lastly, this morning while my youngest two boys were finishing breakfast, I walked into the office for a minute. My 9 year-old, who had been hurling a homemade stress ball around all morning, rushed in moments later. “Mom, I broke the ceiling.” I walked back in to notice chunks of dri-wall and drips of water splattered on the floor. Knowing it was an accident, I wasn’t angry. I tried to be the stern parent and hide my amusement by covering my mouth with a hand. Judging by the tentative smirk on my son’s face, I was not successful. Sure, it will be a pain to fix it, but we now know there is a leak somewhere up there. My son just helped us discover it early. 🙂
So, I’m exhausted, have tons of work to do and the rain keeps falling. But overall it’s a good week.
I re-discovered this week that I have a major character flaw. A fondness for those cookies that my daughter has sold once a year for nine years. You would think by now I would understand that I cannot be trusted with a box of those things. I keep telling myself they are for a great cause and that’s why I continue to buy them, but am I lying to myself?
If I were in a contemporary romance, I would be the almost overweight heroine that gets snowed in with boxes of the one thing she can’t resist. Oh wait, no maybe that’s reality!
Characters need flaws. They are not interesting if they are perfect. I’m reworking my first book now, one of the reasons is my hero is too perfect. Can you imagine that, the perfect man? Sure my husband comes close to perfection but we are talking books here and the characters have to grow. They need to have learned something on their journey and changed for the better. My protagonist has plenty of issues, she almost needs a therapist. But somehow it’s taken me longer to learn how to develop the hero’s shortcomings.
As my writing has grown, so have my skills at assigning character flaws. In Highland Deception, my hero’s great flaw is on the first page of the book! My heroine’s is not far behind. Their defects feed off of each other and they must learn to overcome them in order for a Happily Ever After to take place.
Will I ever learn to overcome my current flaw? I think I learned a lesson, but I’ve said that before. Am I doomed to make the same mistake year after year? Those evil little cookies keep calling my name.
What do you think makes the best character flaws in the romances you’ve read? Jealousy, self doubt, greed or a phobia? I would love to hear from you.
Lori